The garage, once filled with frantic screams and violent scuffles, was now presided over by a suffocating silence. The air was heavy with the scent of blood and raw flesh with the only light coming from the glowing sockets of Don's mask, casting a cold, glow over the mess below.
Don stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the blood-soaked floor. The twisted remains of Viper and Rusty were beneath him, their faces frozen in expressions of sheer terror, the last moments of their lives written into their mangled features.
While their bodies were ruined beyond recognition, their faces remained disturbingly intact, like grotesque monuments to their fear.
It was a gruesome sight, and even for Don, this was new territory. In the simulations he'd used to train his mind, he'd always been a spectator or victim, never the actor. But this... this was different.
